The Knife
by Jair
Summary: Bellatrix is a weapon, sharpened on the hardest stone of all: Her own heart. Rated R to be safe. Ficlet.


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**_The Knife_**

* * *

There was really nothing to it. Just another task set by the Master. Another death in His service. 

Even if this was infinitely more personal. She knew He must enjoy it. The irony of it all, giving her this assignment. Yet, at the same time, she saw it for what it was: Another test. A flicker of anger stirred inside her, extinguished even as it sparked. Hadn't she proven herself? Her loyalty? 

She could almost feel the last vestiges of her humanity being stripped from her, like the last scraps of meat off a bone. And this knife, oh, it was sharp. 

There was no twinge of guilt as she pushed open the door. No qualms about the lie written on every line of her face. He was foolish indeed, if he really thought that she would spare him because he was family. No, it would never be said that Bellatrix Black was a soft woman. Not by anyone. People would quake in fear at her name, one day. And those that didn't would be crushed under her heel. 

_Lestrange,_ she thought absently. _Bellatrix Lestrange_. It was still new to her, the idea that she belonged to another. But, she remembered with a thrill the ceremony that the Dark Lord Himself had been so gracious to perform: The rites of blood and Dark Magic that bound her to Rodolphus in a way far more intimate and powerful than two fools married under the light could ever understand, much less achieve. 

_Well, perhaps they did understand a little,_ she mused. _The rites could not have been performed without them._

There was a shuffling from the other room of the dilapidated shack, and Regulus emerged, dark hair tousled and those heavily-lidded eyes, so much like her own, blinking owlishly at her. "Bellatrix!" He ran a hand through his hair - the other held his wand. "I was so worried that you weren't going to show." 

Her mouth twitched, lips wanting to curl into a snarl at the disgust she felt for this pathetic creature. "Of course, my dear cousin," she crooned, stepping toward him across a floor that groaned its protests under even her own negligible weight. "I would not abandon you at such a time as this. Family, after all, is everything." Family was nothing to her. Except Narcissa, of course. Her dear, loving sister - even if she was married to that pig Lucius Malfoy. Always attempting to undercut her, even when he _knew_ that _she_ was the Dark Lord's favorite. 

But Regulus...oh, she had held such high hopes for him. But when he discovered what he had gotten himself into, he wanted out. It disappointed her so. He had to have known there was only one way out, and she was here to deliver him. 

She laid a hand on his arm. Not her whole hand, but a gesture far more intimate than that. Two fingertips, just above his elbow. 

She was taller than Regulus, and he was looking up at her, now, a deplorable amount of hope shining in those dark eyes of his. "So, what now? Are you going to be taking me somewhere safer?" 

Bellatrix chuckled softly, with the manner of a mother whose child had just asked if grass was green. "You are safe here as you could be anywhere, dear cousin. The Fidelus Charm ensures that. Calm yourself," she added, soothingly. She thought he was being even more foolish than usual, trusting her so abjectly. Had he not borne witness to her cruelty? He acted as if he had never seen her force husbands to kill their wives, as if she didn't torture children as their parents watched. 

But he was just looking at her, and after a moment, she finally placed what she was seeing. Yes, it was hope. But not just any hope. It was the hope of a drowning man who can feel the water filling his lungs, but is able to the hand that can pull him out, just above the surface. 

The Dark Lord's instructions had been explicit, however, and Bellatrix meant to follow them to the letter. 

There was a clatter of wood-on-wood as her cousin's wand fell to the floor. Hope turned to shock, and all Regulus ever saw of the dagger was the hilt, the emerald that capped it glittering at him like some corrupted green eye from where it stuck out of his chest. 


End file.
